


The Public Relations Affair

by 26foxbuck221



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How our two favorite U.N.C.L.E. agents may have met, and a small history lesson ensues</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Public Relations Affair

The Public Relations Affair

Just a little something that popped into my head. As always I own nothing  
pertaining to The Man From U.N.C.L.E universe, TV or movie wise. 

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The full two dozen of men worked their way very slowly and methodically through the auditorium. Another team would be canvasing the perimeter. Once the area was cleared of all threat a security net would be set up. The same would happen within the auditorium its self but first it had to swept. Every nook and cranny had to be investigated, cleared, then put under surveillance. 

The five heads of U.N.C.L.E stood on the stage as their agents combed through. Harry Beldon not long in the Berlin office and Alexander Waverly of the head of U.N.C.L.E Northeast stood close together doing the heavy looking on as there was actually nothing for them to do. Their agents were well trained and very competent. 

“What is up there?”

The voice was polished British English with a heavy hint of something else. 

Beldon moved to the edge of the stage.

“Do you want the artistic interpretation or the architectural drawings?”

“Sir? Wouldn't the drawings be of far more enlightening then the history of the art work?”

Beldon heaved a slightly melodramatic sigh.”Far too literally minded this one.”

Beldon started to turn away when he remembered the man at his side. 

“Ah, yes. You two haven't been properly introduced have you? There will be time when I return.”

The older man looked levelly at Beldon. “The Soviet agent that was sent to us out of Cambridge?”

Beldon huffed good naturedly. “I suppose that is obvious. That Eastern European accent can be quite prominent. But I will make sure you are properly introduced.”

“Outside perimeter cleared and security in place, sir.”

“Very good. Thank you, Mr. Solo. I want you to stand by. One of Beldon's men thinks the ceiling needs to be investigated.”

The dark haired agent looked up. 

“He thinks it may be floating?”

“Yes, apparently. Beldon has gone in search of the conceptual plans.”

Solo moved to look up at the ceiling.

“The chandeliers would need maintenance. There is no way to do it except from above. Though at one time, there would have been a rope and pulley assembly for each light fixture. That is no longer in evidence.”

The speaker was blond, dressed in a black belted trench coat. 

Solo smiled though it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

“You are one of Beldon's men?”

The blond agent's back stiffened and he executed a sharp bow of the head and a click of heel. 

“Da, I am Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin.”

“Solo. Napoleon Solo.”

“Welcome to Berlin, Mr. Solo.”

 

OIOIOIOIOIOIOI

A few hours later found a contingent of agents climbing through the dust and grime of the timbers that formed the spine of walkway above the ornate ceiling of the auditorium. The workspace was dark and shadowed by the flashlights carried by the dozen men intent on insuring the safety of the men and women who would be attending the symposium.

The tension between the Soviet held East Berlin and the Allied held West was building again. This meeting was geared to insuring the West Germans that they would not be abandoned. U.N.C.L.E had been called in as a mediator seeing that it was an international organization. The pro-Western factions in the USSR were quietly adding their voices to the promise. Not all were happy with Nikita Kruschev. Nor were they happy that once again the USSR was turning it's back on the alliance it had once held with the Western Allies. 

Solo run the beam of his flashlight down the center of the walkway. “This dust hasn't been disturbed for years.”

The shorter blond played his beam off to the sides. “A taller person or one trained in gymnastics could move through this lattice work. Let us make sure. Using the cat walk would be an amateurish blunder.”

Solo felt himself smile at the slight play on words. Maybe the soviets had a sense of humor after all?  
Beams of light cast eerie shadows as agents checked cross beams for signs of a body passing through them. 

“Nein! Nothing here! All clear over here!”

The calls in the negative of finding any evidence of suspicious activity bounced around the heads of the security detail. 

The dark haired American nodded. “That's it then. We can go down and make our report.”

“Da. Also a security detail will have to be put in place to keep this space clear.”

All the agents filed down the stairs to report to Beldon.

“Very good. I will work up a roster. But you, Mr. Kuryakin are requested. You are to report to Herr Sitzler.”

The agent stepped forward and took the piece of paper that Beldon held out to him. 

Beldon studied the younger man. “You know the address?”

Kuryakin opened the paper took only a short moment to read it, then nodded.

“Da, sir. I do.”

“Very good. Off with you then.”

The blond sketched a bow then left.

Waverley looked after the departing agent, then turned his attention to Beldon. “The German's requested the presence of a Russian? Even with all the tension building in the Eastern Bloc?”

Harry shrugged. “What can I say. Herr Sitzler is the one who is heading up this little soiree and he asked for Kuryakin to be a part of his personal security detail. Oh, don't worry, Alexander. That little Russian handles himself like the professional he is. He's well educated and comes off as bit of an English toff, but give him enough provocation and space, and you just might catch a glimpse if his true colors.”

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

The old opera house was filled with to capacity. Dignitaries from both the East and West were present and the tension was thick enough to almost visible. Waverly knew full well that there were eyes that were not focused on the speakers. Ears that were listening to every but the speeches. Government security forces working hand in hand with the United Network Enforcement agents and all were on high alert. Herr Sitzler sat on the stage along with the Vice President and Secretary of State from the US, both carrying letters of assurance of continued solidarity and protection from the over reaching iron fist being levied on the Eastern sections of Germany by the Soviet presence from President J.F. Kennedy. Their body guards lined up behind them.

The symposium lasted most of the day breaking up in the late afternoon. No luncheon had been taken, and it was agreed that dinner would be an in-house affair, the caterers and food carefully vetted. Once the meal was over, most dignitaries along with their security forces left while it was daylight and safe to travel. Herr Sitzler approached the U.C.N.C.L.E contingent and invited them to join him for a farewell drink in order to thank them for their presence and to formally release them from their duties on his behalf. 

Their route took them to a hotel in Western Berlin. Once ensconced in the comfortable suite, their host broke out bottles of champagne, a high end German beer and wine along with fine glasses to pour the drink of choice into. As he passed the Soviet agent, he leaned in.

“I have not forgotten you, my young friend. There is something waiting for you in the freezer. Please, help yourself and enjoy,”

Kuryakin meandered out to the kitchenette and opened the freezer to find a bottle of Stolichnaya chilled and just begging to be sampled. Grabbing a glass, artfully decanted it. One did not simply pour it into a glass and chug. Though it could be from the bottle if being shared with tovarishch, close drug, comrades in arms and friends. He stoppered the bottle and started to return to the party but then stopped, a very slight smile curling the corner of his mouth. He put the vodka back freezer, and with a sincere apology to the beverage, dropped a couple of ice cubes into it.

The setting room was abuzz with quiet conversation and Illya acknowledged his host with a slight dip of his head and salute of glass. He wandered to stay just outside a group talking to the arrivals from the US. He had little contact with Americans though there was gossip and propaganda enough about them. But these were U.N.C.L.E. agents and he might as well learn something about them then what came down second, third and even fourth hand. Not that he was truly interested at the moment, he was fishing and just waiting for his quarry to take the bait. 

Kuryakin understood very well the animosity that existed between West and East. He had lived a large part of it. Many Soviets had died, not only at the hands of the Nazi army but that of their own leaders and he was willing to let bygones be bygones, as far as possible. But there was one among Herr Sitzler's retinue who was showing himself to be a bully with sadistic tendencies. 

For the sake of detente, the Russian had worked hard to avoid any trouble, but he had a very bad habit. One that his superiors had worked hard to break him of, unfortunately, Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin had only learned to hide it well. It came as natural to him as breathing, or the involuntary beating of his heart. He found it irresistible to taunt those who went out of their way to bully him. Even during episodes when he found himself in the clutches of torture. 

He was beginning to have a niggling of regret at what he was planning, and almost decided that if the whole plan failed, it would probably be for the best. 

“You, are young my Soviet friend, but are now among adults. A good hearty German beer is a treat to the palate.”

Illya did not resist when the glass of clear liquid was snatched from his hand, turning innocent blue eyes to his tormentor. A trick he had learned years ago and had always worked to his advantage. 

A long finger was ticked back and forth a mere inch from his nose. 

“Nien, nien. None of those puppy dog eyes. You cannot be as innocent as you seem. Herr Sitzler asked for you, which can only mean that you are very, very good. Well trained and up to the task of being a body guard. So, a more manly drink is called for this night.”

“I have never acquired the taste for your ales and beers.” Kuryakin let his tone of voice become edged with a hint of contempt, his chin rising. 

“Perhaps you just never tried hard enough. Now is the time. I will try this drink, in turn, you will try mine.”

With a condescending sneer, the man raised the glass in salute then tossed it back. 

Illya heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward as the man began to sputter and choke drawing the attention of rest of the room. 

“You are right. Now I must try your dark ale.” The Russian moved to the wet bar only to be stopped by a light but firm touch on his arm.

“Nien, Herr Kuryakin. I have let this go on to long. You should…..” 

At the sharp cold glance shot his way, Sitzler's hand fell away slowly. 

“Mitzger, you and Klingmann get Fleischer out of here. I don't want to see any of you again tonight.”

The room was silent as the still coughing man was escorted out.

“It was a dangerous game you were playing at, my young friend. You are far to young to have been at Leningrad.”

“I do not play games, Herr Sitzler and I am older then you might imagine. My family was caught in Kiev when the Nazi rolled through on their way to the Volga to take Stalingrad and the oil fields of the Caucasus. No one expected Leningrad to hold but it did. It is not a thing a Russian will ever forget. Nor shall we forget how the Soviet armies handed Hitler his first and greatest defeat at Stalingrad.”*

Sitzler sharply studied the man before him then turned turned thoughtfully away and found himself facing the wet bar. He heaved a deep but quiet sigh then moved to pick up a glass.

“I will not ask you to guess where I spent the few years of the war.” He disappeared into the kitchen to return a few moments later with the chilled bottle of Russian vodka, handed it to the blond U.N.C.L.E. agent while reaching for a German beer and decanting it into his glass before reaching for the vodka again. 

The younger man watched, then with a flick of an eyebrow and slight nod he also took a glass poured the beer then the vodka but did not drink, but stood studying the German who regarded his glass introspectively. Then with a deep intake of breath and the dark blond head came up, blue eyes focusing on the young Russian. 

“Few know, or may even care to know, that there was a German resistance to Hitler and his Nazi regime. Lately, someone has had the unconscionable gall to call it “A resistance without its citizens” while between 40 and 70,000 souls, loyal to their country and its values and welfare, were sent to Hitler's death camps. How many of us survived…..even now few dare speak of it. But I, in turn, can never forget the day the Red Army rolled across the German border from the East and liberated the camp.” Sitzler raised his glass. “And so, my Russian comrade, let us drink to the Siege of 900 hundred days and the indomitable spirit of Russia. May the German people prove to be as resolute in their drive and spirit to survive what ever this gathering storm brings to us.”**

As one the two glasses where tossed back and slammed down upon the bar when drained. 

Sitzler let go an honest and hearty laugh, lay his hands on Kuryakin's shoulders and spun him gently around to face the rest of the room.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is time to say our ado's for the night. May the new dawn impart to us good news…..beyond that…..sleep well none the less. You are all released from your duties as bodyguards and diplomats. We can do no more.”

As the room began to empty the dark haired American agent sidled up to the small blond agent.

“Tell me, my friend, if I were to go to a night hot spot and order that drink what would I ask for?”

“Do it in Germany at your own risk, Solo. But if you ever are feeling ever so lucky, ask for a “Dead Nazi at Leningrad”***

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* Hitler believed that if he took Stalingrad and the oil fields he could easily overwhelm India and secure the East.

** There was indeed a German resistance to Hitler's regime

***The drink exists, the 900 day siege of Leningrad indeed did fail, at the cost of an estimated 1 million Russian lives.


End file.
